


electric potential

by redlight



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Crushes, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Galaxy Garrison, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), Pre-Canon, Pre-Series, Studying, Teen Crush, Unrequited Crush, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, hunk is beautiful and lance is IN LOVE, its cute tho, mild langst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 11:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12957930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight
Summary: So, real talk for a second: Lance is the worst best friendever, and he can't stop staring at Hunk's mouth.





	electric potential

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote a fic thats similar to this but with klance but honestly i like hance better so like. here it is.
> 
> also hunk is gorgeous? can we mention that?? yes?? please?? k thanks

Hunk doesn't realize he's doing it, but he's teething at his lips hard enough to bruise them. 

Maybe it's a nervous habit kinda thing – and Hunk has a lot of nervous habits. Like biting his fingernails – Lance has the same problem, they try to calm it with pretty nail polish and soothing nail care, but sometimes Hunk just bites his nails off anyway, and sometimes Lance just bites the paint off, which, yeah, kinda gross but sometimes he can't help it okay?

And if it's not biting his nails, it's – pacing. It's Hunk chewing his lips nervously as he walks back and forth, fingers caught in his own hairband as he twitches and twists and turns.

And if it's not pacing, then Hunk starts _biting his lips_ – which, uh, sometimes Lance is a gross, horrible, no-good best friend 'cause _sometimes_ he can't help but stare, because Hunk has pretty, pretty lips, plump and soft-looking and kissable, _so_ kissable, like you could name a lipstick color after them – 

Which, uh. Speaking of lipstick.

They're cramming for a test. One of the required Calculus classes, test day is the same day and Lance has his in the morning while Hunk has his in the afternoon, a week from now, and Lance – _this_ is where Lance hurts and struggles and stumbles through school, because sometimes he just _can't_ wrap his head around the numbers, mixes up his digits and writes the wrong integers down by accident just because he lost a split second of attention 'cause he's worrying he's doing something _wrong_ –

And here's the thing; Lance wants to be in the sky, Lance craves blue winds and lightning strikes and white clouds a windshield away from his fingertips, Lance wants to be a goddamn _pilot_ and he needs to _know_ this, and he's fine with the physics for the most part, _but, but, but_ sometimes he has an off day and the numbers mess him _up_ and cloud behind his eyes in a mess of symbols that he can barely discern.

Which is why it's cram day, _every day_ , before a test.

And Hunk – Hunk's brilliant. He's _brilliant_ and beautiful and he knows how to mathematicize ( _"That's not a real word, Lance – " "Language is fluid and ever-changing, Hunk!"_ ) and he's willing to check over Lance's work or just help him out, and maybe Lance won't _ever_ be able to expect a grade as high as Hunk's but _god_ he's gotten good at passing over the past couple of years.

Lance – he's better with physics. Better with something he can physically prove, and sometimes he still gets his numbers mixed up, but not as much. It's all real and rational and _workable_ , with physics and velocity problems and factoring air resistance and free body diagrams. Workable. Easier.

And then Lance will get to the math, and he – he gets _stuck_. 

And he gets anxious. 

And he bites his nails. 

Thing about the Garrison – no way in _hell_ is Lance walking around these halls with pastel blue nails, or pretty sparkly baby pink, or lovely little cloud patterns like his sister can make – she's really good at designs and patterns, got it from a whole summer break looking up tutorials online.

...But this isn't summer break, and this isn't home. This is the _Galaxy Garrison_ , this is the one true Actual Space Academy, and Lance sure as hell isn't gonna try to jinx his time here by doing something that isn't – _normal_. 

Because this isn't home. 

And, and yeah, whatever, Lance hates his nails looking like this – jagged and sharp and uneven, riddled with hangnails from his own teeth. Painting them gave him a reason not to bite, because they looked pretty and Lance never, _ever_ wanted to ruin such lovely handiwork, especially if it was his sister's, or even if he worked hard on putting stickers on – man, the stickers were fun – but, but whatever. Just because Lance keeps a bottle of starry blue nail polish hidden somewhere in the suitcase he brought from home doesn't mean it ever has to see the light of these sterile militant hallways. And that's fine, Lance can handle that. 

Anyway. 

Math. Calculus. His jagged nails scraping up uncomfortably against his palms as he stares the problem down in frustration. 

"Okay, Hunk?" Lance finally asks, looking up at his roommate. 

Hunk's on the bed across from his, methodically working through his notebook – Hunk likes using paper and pencil, says it reminds him more of _home_ , something about his mom sketching pretty flowers and having a extensive set of artist pencils. It's nice, really nice, to watch Hunk work, but Lance thinks he went wrong _somewhere_ because you can't square root a negative or whatever but _whoops_ that's what his half-messy, slanted, half-neat handwriting is telling him – Lance's writing varies on how frustrated he is, honestly – maybe he misread a number? He misreads numbers a lot, or just – doesn't _register_ them properly, or something – 

Lance looks up, to ask Hunk a question about how to actually draw this goddamn graph, maybe, because it's not clicking, but – 

But Hunk has nervous habits, and Hunk is chewing on the eraser end of a pencil, brows furrowed in pretty concentration and eyes locked onto the mess of papers in front of him. 

Lance ducks his head to hide a smile, even though Hunk isn't looking. Cute. He's so _cute_. 

And when Lance looks again – because god _dammit_ , he's passing this test, he can't _not_ pass this test – his eyes are drawn to Hunk's lips nervously nibbling at the pencil end. Dark and pretty and _shimmery_ – 

Oh, and –

 _Okay_ , Lance's brain just clicks and shutters when he realizes. Maybe like a camera. Or something. 

The pencil eraser is white, but it's smeared with glimmering dark plum-brown-pink, and Lance thinks, _oh, Hunk is wearing lipstick_. It looks good. Oh, gosh, it looks so, so good. Hunk already had nice lips, full and biteable, ( _Lance is the worst best friend ever, why is he like this_ – ) the lower lip darker than the upper in a pleasant way, _enticing enrapturing enamoring_ , and Lance – 

Lance can't help but let out a hysterical giggle. 

Hunk jumps, and Lance is the _worst_ , like, _actually_ the worst, no one should _ever_ be startling Hunk and putting that deer-eyed look on his face – 

“I’m failing this class,” Lance babbles, which, um, true, but also an _excuse_ because Hunk’s cinnamon eyes _focus_ on him and Lance’s lungs contract all wrong and he's suddenly _breathless_.

“Oh, c’mon, Lance,” and Hunk is giving him this gentle smile that he _really_ doesn't deserve. “I’m sure you’ll get it, man, you're smart – ”

“No, I – ” There's a roughness in his throat, hard to swallow. “No, I just – my grades are too low, dude. They’ll kick me out.”

 _Confession time_ ; Lance doesn’t admit shit like this. Doesn’t admit he’s _not good enough_ , ‘cause if those words _ever_ come out of _his_ own mouth they’ll materialize into big, hot sparks of lightning and Lance will be _electrocuted_ , shocked out of the goddamn sky. When it’s the instructiors, the classmates, the faces he doesn’t care to know and the names he forces himself to forget, _it’s fine, it’s fine_ , it’s motherfucking _fine_ – Lance will grin and catch the lightning in his teeth and force the energy into his smile, into his next attempt, into _everything he has_.

Except – it’s still _true_. It’s just that Lance can’t ever let it leave his own lips. If he _does_ , then he fails and falls and _loses_ like everyone expects him to.

But this is _Hunk_. Hunk with his sweet smile and too-worried eyes, the ground that stabilizes the surging electricity within Lance’s blood when it’s all too _much_. 

So Hunk just gives him a pretty smile with his pretty mouth ( _soft and maybe the lipstick has a flavor but maybe it’s just clear-tasting and pleasantly plush –_ ) and Hunk is saying, totally unaware of Lance’s internal _pining like a dummy over my best friend_ crisis, “Want me to help?” 

Lance – Lance just gives him a shaky smile in return. “Yeah, I’d – really like that.”

Hunk is grounding, soothing, keeps Lance from driving himself _insane_ sometimes – but as he shuffles over to sit beside Hunk, desperately trying to keep a _safe distance_ from him – (Lance will light on _fire_ if he ends up touching Hunk’s skin, okay? Lance is gross and thirsty like that) – well, Lance can feel the electric potential energy in his skin calming and fading.

He still can’t stop looking at Hunk’s mouth, though.

 _Hi, yeah_ , so Lance is the worst best friend _ever_.

**Author's Note:**

> plz talk to me on twitter [@redspacelights](https://twitter.com/REDSPACELIGHTS) bc i really want friends


End file.
